The Protege
by stonecoldfox
Summary: Snape undertakes the re-education of a young sorceress walking the fine line between darkness and light.
1. A Valuable Prospect

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. All hail JK.

A VALUABLE PROSPECT

Though it was summer, the dungeons were particularly cold. The frosty air did not bother Severus Snape, who was used to the temperature. The other person occupying the room, however, kept glancing at the fireplace, wondering why it wasn't roaring in such climate. He shivered ever-so-slightly before continuing the speech he had come to deliver.

"She is a rather… valuable prospect, Severus. I'm sure you understand. Her father… my dear brother, may he rest in peace," Lucius said, and there was a distinct growl in his voice. "Was, as you know, one of the most powerful wizards to carry the Malfoy name in seven generations."

Snape, reclining in the chair behind his desk, nodded mutely; he was only too well aware of the relationship Lucius had had with his late younger brother. He waited quietly, tapping a finger against his lips, as the silver-haired Death Eater appeared to indulge in his deep hatred for a brief moment.

"And I'm certain I don't need to tell you that her mother's particular brand of magic, though seen by most of our kind as nothing more than a joke, can be quite potent. The hell spawn of Dante Malfoy and Bijoux Lacroix could turn into quite a dangerous little witch, Severus. Especially if she continues to bloom under Bijoux's influence alone. You know how delusional and ambitious that woman has always been."

"I know," Snape said simply. He opened his mouth to continue, but decided against it. Lucius had begun to pace.

"Fortunately for us, a recent turn of events has provided the opportunity to make our move. The girl has finally been expelled from Durmstrang Institute. Frankly, I'm surprised it's taken this long." 

"And?"

Lucius stopped pacing, turned to Snape and smiled. "And the Dark Lord has decided that Bijoux will be killed."

Snape raised one eyebrow; now he understood. "And the child will come home to dear Uncle Lucius." Of course, he mused. If there was one thing the Dark Lord despised more than those of impure blood, it was waste of power. Why kill the girl when she could be put to use? He forced his lips to curl into a smile and took a few steps towards the blonde man. "And no doubt Uncle Lucius has a few things to teach her."

"Well, yes, one would think so," Lucius began, his face serious again. "But no. By order of the Dark Lord, I will not be interfering with her… re-education," he said sinisterly. "No doubt her mind has already been poisoned against me by her worthless mother, anyway. No, what she needs is somebody of whom she has not already formed an opinion. Someone authoritative… A person who's in a position to observe her constantly. Someone with the power and opportunity to sculpt her mind in the image of their own. To gain her trust, to reward her triumphs, to… punish her transgressions."

Snape braced himself for what he knew was coming. "Of course," he said sardonically. "And who, need I ask, will have the honour?"

Lucius smiled triumphantly. "You will. She's coming to Hogwarts."


	2. Dumbledore's Orders

DISCLAIMER: Nothing, I own. JKR, all hail.

DUMBLEDORE'S ORDERS

"She can't. It's against Hogwarts policy to allow students to enrol beyond first year."

Snape was pacing the Headmaster's office angrily, his fists clenched by his side.

"Severus, please," Dumbledore said wearily. "Sit down. You're wearing out my favourite rug."

He stopped walking, glared at the Headmaster briefly, and then sat down in a large overstuffed armchair in front of Dumbledore's desk, gazing darkly into the fireplace. A long silence hung in the air, as Dumbledore apparently allowed his Potions Master to calm down.

"True, allowing a student to enrol in sixth year at Hogwarts without having studied here before is… not the norm. However, the Governors have given Lucius their approval and we have no choice but to oblige. Besides that, I believe her education at Durmstrang to have been thorough, if not ideal. I think she will have no difficulty in keeping up with her fellow students here. And…" he paused, studying Severus carefully.

"Yes?" the younger man prompted irritably.

"Lucius is right."

Snape scoffed, and resumed his pacing. "Lucius is never right."

"Not often, no. But this time is different. The girl does need someone like you, Severus. She is walking a fine line, my boy. A line between darkness and light that you once walked yourself. I cannot help her, for she will not accept my guidance. You, on the other hand…"

"You don't understand what he's asking me to do! Lucius' idea of re-education, Dumbledore… I cannot inflict on a child what he expects me to!" He rested his hands on the top of the fireplace to stop them from shaking.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. Snape turned around and was suddenly aware of how old and tired he looked. His blue eyes, usually so bright and alive, seemed… worried. Exhausted.

"I know what he expects of you. If you believe even for a moment that I have not seen the full extent of Lucius Malfoy's viciousness, you are mistaken. But Severus," he said, his voice low and serious. "She has been raised to understand one thing: power. Her father, her mother, her former school… they all taught her to love it, respect it and strive for it. Gentle guidance is not something she will comprehend or acknowledge. You must understand this. If she is to be brought around to anyone's side, it will only be through careful manipulation and demonstration of power. It's sad, yes. But the only way."

Dumbledore would say no more on the matter, but Snape understood him perfectly.

"And this quest of yours… saving this girl from the dark side," he sneered contemptuously. "I suppose it's born completely of nobility and morality, and nothing to do with strategy? It seems odd that you would waste me on this task while a war rages outside the castle walls."

Dumbledore retained his sombre expression and fixed Snape with a serious gaze. "Sit down, Severus."

He obliged.

"You cannot refuse Lucius' request. We cannot risk exposing your activities to Lord Voldemort, not when we've come so far. And Drusilla Malfoy cannot become a Death Eater. It is as simple as that. I will not allow her to become a danger to our students. I will not allow her to threaten Harry's purpose. The boy is in his seventh and final year; I will not put yet another burden on his shoulders."

"Of course. It's about Potter."

"It's about Lord Voldemort!" Dumbledore thundered, his face dark and his voice dangerous. "You WILL do this, Severus. You will NOT allow Miss Malfoy to fall prey to Voldemort. Do you understand?"

Snape nodded his head slowly and frowned. "I do."

Dumbledore nodded almost imperceptibly, his fierce eyes dulling once again. "Good. Then you may leave."

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would really really appreciate it if you would review this chapter – let me know what you think, even if you didn't like it. It's all valuable.


	3. On The Platform

ON THE PLATFORM

Drusilla had to remind herself to keep her face impassive as she made her way through the throng of Hogwarts students on Platform 9 ¾. Her uncle and cousin walked several steps ahead of her, the younger mimicking the elder's commanding stride. It was somewhat difficult not to laugh at Malfoy Jr's attempts to hold his head in the same dignified manner as his father; while it was certainly a fair impression, he just never quite made it.

"Well, Draco," Lucius said, stopped abruptly near the front of the train as the house elf scurried to put the luggage onboard. "I trust there is no need to inform that you being away from home does not mean being out of my reach."

Drusilla frowned; did he mean that as a gesture of fatherly assurance, or a threat? It was so hard to tell.

"No, father," Draco replied. His voice was deep and resonant, just like Lucius'. In fact, it was remarkable the many ways in which Draco resembled his father. The same long, silvery hair (Draco's ponytail reached just past his shoulders now), the same cold grey eyes and broad shoulders. The exact same resentful sneer.

"Drusilla," Lucius began, turning his gaze towards his niece. He seemed hesitant to speak, as though he wasn't sure what to say. He adopted a tone that was almost gentle – in a completely false and rather eerie way. "Have a delightful year, my girl. Do try not to get expelled," he added as an afterthought.

Drusilla nodded, but no remnant of expression reached her face. Lucius frowned uncomfortably. He nodded to Draco, turned around and walked away, disappearing at the end of the platform with the house elf trailing behind.

"I have to be at the front of the train. Head Boy duties, you know," Draco informed his younger cousin smugly. "But listen – I'll find some sixth year Slytherins you can share a compartment with. Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to sit with anyone from Gryffindor, do you understand?" Draco was pointing a finger at Drusilla threateningly.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then turned on her heel and walked away. Draco scowled as he watched her long dark hair disappear into the crowd of students and parents, before turning and making his way towards the front compartment.


	4. A Gaggle of Gryffindors

A GAGGLE OF GRYFFINDORS

"Oh come ON, Ron!" Molly Weasley's voice rang through King's Cross Station. "We've only got five minutes until the train leaves! Ginny, do try to hurry, dear."

"I'm running as fast as I can, mum!" Ginny puffed from behind everyone else.

"Here we are," said Arthur Weasley cheerfully as they reached the gateway to Platform 9 ¾. "Go on, Ron and Harry, you two first."

The two boys checked to make sure there were no muggles watching before running through the barrier onto the platform. Hermione and Ginny came next, followed by Mr & Mrs Weasley. Harry had once, again, spent the last two weeks of his summer with his best friend Ron's family. Hermione had met them the day before in Diagon Alley and the three seventh years had enjoyed shopping for their school supplies together, but with a small tinge of sadness bubbling under the surface of their smiles, for they were about to begin their last year at Hogwarts.

"I can hardly believe this is the last time I'm going to board the Hogwarts Express," said Hermione wistfully, after the usual hectic goodbyes from Mr & Mrs Weasley (Molly had had to dry her eyes with a handkerchief; 'My babies!').

"Tell me about it," said Ron as all four of them stuffed their luggage into the overhead compartments. "Not long now til we actually have to DO something with our lives. Scary."

"Yes, well, it wouldn't be scary if you'd decided on a career, Ron," Hermione said, sniffing her disapproval.

"I have! I'm going to work for Fred and George!" Ron said.

"That's hardly a career," Hermione replied coldly as she pinned her Head Girl badge to her robes. "That's a job. You might as well be a check-out boy."

"A what?" he turned to Harry, who shook his head as if to say 'forget it.' "Look, stop sniping at me, will you? Let's just get to the front compartment before Malfoy has the chance to take three hundred points from Gryffindor."

Ron and Hermione waved goodbye and moved off to join the other prefects. Harry laughed and shook his head as he watched his two friends walk away, still arguing. After a moment, he and Ginny began to make their way down the aisle, looking left and right to find an empty compartment. On the way, they passed one with a single occupant – a pale-looking girl with long dark hair – but decided to move on when she shot them all a rather dangerous look.

"Here's one!" called Ginny, who was a few steps ahead. "Oh, hi Neville. How was your summer?"

"Brilliant!" Neville said enthusiastically. "Gran took me to Ireland to visit some of my relatives on my mum's side. I found out I've got an uncle who's a herbologist! He travels the world discovering and experimenting with different species of plants. He even gave me a Lilac Flamilius plant. Look, it self-ignites, I'll show –"

"No!" Cried Harry and Ginny, who recalled their fifth year trip on the Hogwarts Express, when Neville had sprayed them all with the ink from his Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

"Er, I'm allergic to Lilacs," Ginny mumbled.

"Oh," said Neville, who had bent down to pull the plant out of knapsack. "Alright then."

Soon the three of them were immersed in conversation, discussing Gryffindor's chances for a Quidditch Cup win this year ("We'd bloody well better win – I won't get another chance!" said Harry) and the fact that Remus Lupin had been re-appointed DADA professor ("About time!" Ginny crowed triumphantly, and Neville nodded madly, thankful that Snape had once again been denied the position). After an hour or so, Ron and Hermione entered the compartment and slumped into their seats gratefully, looking tired and slightly cranky. Nobody bothered to ask why, as all three of them knew that Draco had been appointed Head Boy and this was enough to turn even cool-headed Hermione into a raging bull (or lion, as the case may be). Before long (and at just the right time!), the plump witch pushed the food trolley into their compartment, and soon the entire group was happily making their way through a large pile of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs.

"So have you seen her yet?" said Neville, through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Who?" Ron and Harry said in unison.

"The new girl. What's her name? Donna… Dorilla… Oh, you know I'm not good with names."

"New girl?" laughed Ginny. "There must be a two dozen new girls, Neville. What's so special about this one?"

"She's not a first year. She's your age!"

Everyone stopped eating and looked up at Neville in wonder. Hermione was the first to speak.

"Impossible," she said calmly. "You must be mistaken. Who told you that?"

"Dean Thomas told me, and Blaise Zabini told him," Neville said, in a rather hurt voice.

"But Hogwarts doesn't allow students past first year," said Ginny. "They wouldn't change the rules for one person, would they?"

"Of course not!" scoffed Hermione. "You can't believe everything you hear, Neville."

Neville looked disgruntled, but seemed to accept Hermione's point. "Well, Dean sounded pretty sure of himself."

"And it's not as if nothing funny has ever happened as Hogwarts before, Hermione," Ron said fondly, smiling. "Nothing at this madhouse of a school surprises me anymore."

"I wonder where she's from!" said Ginny animatedly. Everyone murmured curiously; suddenly the compartment was filled with a slight air of excitement.

"Come on," said Hermione, though her interest was peaked also. "Who could be so special that Dumbledore would break years of Hogwarts tradition for?"

"Well, probably the only reason the school's never had new students past first year is that nobody's had to come that late before. I mean, if they don't know you're a wizard or witch by the time you're eleven, you're probably not a wizard or witch at all!" said Ron, and Harry and Neville both nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. So why is this person starting so late?"

Everyone thought about it for a moment.

"Maybe….." Neville spoke up apprehensively. "Maybe she's come from another wizarding school. You know, like a transfer or something."

Everyone looked quite surprised at Neville, and even Hermione raised her eyebrows and thought about it for a moment. It didn't last long, though, because Crookshanks, who was sitting on Hermione's lap, suddenly caught sight of a fly buzzing around Ron, and leapt onto his head. Ron yelped and threw him off, and the next couple of minutes were spent coaxing Crookshanks out from underneath the seat. Their previous conversation was forgotten for the rest of the train ride.


	5. A Miserable Journey

A MISERABLE JOURNEY

The journey to Hogwarts was long and miserable for Drusilla. She spent the entire trip staring out the window, letting the colours of the countryside blur into grey as the train sped through the afternoon and into the evening. It was moments like this when her usually disciplined mind wandered carelessly into territory she'd rather it didn't.

Her mother was dead. Her young, beautiful, selfish mother was dead. 

And it was tearing her apart.

She didn't fool herself that Bijoux's death was accidental, as she had been told. Nobody could have 'accidentally' killed Bijoux Lacroix. No, what had happened to her mother was calculated and deliberate. It was murder.

Drusilla wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as the sky outside darkened. She thought distractedly of her uncle and cousin. So stupid and weak. Draco, his father's underling and a slave to his Hogwarts house. He would never achieve his full potential, and Drusilla wanted so badly to tell him this. But she wouldn't let herself. She was a strategist – she would not expend energy unnecessarily, merely for her own temporary pleasure. Drusilla was awfully good at biting her tongue and biding her time.

And Lucius – servant to the Dark Lord; a mere minion in the scheme of things. Her uncle was completely and totally blind to the big picture, just as her father had been. But still, he was clever, cunning and resourceful – a Slytherin in every sense of the word. Drusilla made a mental note not to underestimate Lucius Malfoy.

Draco, however, was a different story. Drusilla was revolted by the way he had attempted to assert his supremacy over her. 'Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to sit with anyone from Gryffindor, do you understand?' As if she had wanted to sit with any one of the children on this train. She suspected that Lucius had told Draco that he was in command in his father's absence; that he was responsible for keeping tabs on Drusilla and making sure she did not behave in a manner unbecoming a Malfoy.

But Drusilla Lacroix, as she had called herself since her father's death, did not consider herself a Malfoy. And with the death of her mother freshly stinging in her mind, she vowed to honour the Lacroix name, to uphold the Lacroix family beliefs. She pulled out the silver locket she was wearing beneath her robes and opened it reverently. The face inside smiled at her approvingly; her mother's dark eyes and hair were almost a reflection of her own.

"Je vous aime, Bijoux," she said softly. "Bonne nuit, ma mere."


	6. Sorted

SORTED.

Whispers echoed in the cavernous Great Hall as Drusilla entered, at the end of a long line of first-years. The thought that she should be embarrassed briefly crossed her mind, but she paid it no heed. It wasn't an easy thing to embarrass Drusilla Lacroix – in fact, it had never yet happened. And she certainly wasn't going to feel ashamed of herself simply because she was the only new student at Hogwarts who wasn't eleven years old or younger. It wasn't as though she'd never studied magic before.

Drusilla stood perfectly still as the sorting took place. She'd heard of this ritual – a prefect at Durmstrang had told her of it in her first year. It all seemed rather silly to Drusilla- whoever heard of leaving such decisions to a piece of headwear? And an old, tattered one at that, as she could see from the back of the room. She shook her head slightly, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself (like that was possible) but unable to hide her disdain for these silly Hogwarts traditions. The trip over the lake with the first-years had been bad enough; now she had to be told by an old hat where and with whom she should spend the next two years of her school life. It was laughable.

"Abrams, Liam!" a stern-looking, dark-haired witch called out.

A small, frightened-looking boy shuffled over to the stool and sat down on it, pulling the Sorting Hat over his eyes as if to hide from the crowd of students. He sat that way for a good thirty seconds, and Drusilla had to wonder why it took so long for the Hat to make up its mind. Perhaps it was developing Alzheimer's, she thought wryly.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Drusilla jumped as a huge cheer came from one of the centre tables. Liam Abrams slid off the three-legged stool, took off the Hat and ran over to his new housemates looking relieved.

"Brackewitz, Michaela!"

The girl, whose long red hair had hidden half her face, was barely on the stool for three seconds when the Hat shouted "RAVENCLAW!" and a cheer erupted from another of the long house tables. She was met by her new housemates with handshakes and grins of approval.

The stern-looking witch continued through the list of names, and Drusilla was surprised to find her stomach do a small back flip as they came nearer to the Ls. She couldn't be nervous, Drusilla told herself. It was just a silly old hat. And it wasn't as if she cared which house she was sorted into. She had no prejudices.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. The only student she knew from Hogwarts was her dear Cousin, a proud Slytherin to the core. Drusilla vaguely wondered if all snivelling, cowardly, bossy, antagonistic little snots were sorted into Slytherin.

'All right then,' she thought to herself. 'As long as I'm not in Slytherin, I'll be happy.'

The group of unsorted students became smaller and smaller as the Sorting Hat made its way through the alphabet. Much to her disdain, Drusilla found her stomach was suddenly full of butterflies as "Labore, Cynthia!" was sorted into Ravenclaw. Outwardly, however, she showed no emotion. Her face was blank, her hands were still and her arms hung straight down at her sides.

"Lacroix, Drusilla!"

A renewed cacophony of whispers echoed in the Great Hall, and a couple of people giggled a way off to her right, but Drusilla's face remained impassive and she looked straight ahead. She sat down on the three-legged stool and the stern-looking witch placed the hat on her head. She was not prepared for the voice that was suddenly inside her head, clearing its throat.

'Well, well, well… You're an odd one, aren't you? Hmmm, let me think. You're quite clever, that's a certainty. But are you clever enough for Ravenclaw? You definitely wouldn't make a good Hufflepuff – I don't believe you've ever worked hard in your life, and as for loyalty… well, that's yet to be determined I suppose. Now, Slytherin, I think that might be the one for you…'

'No! Not Slytherin!' Drusilla thought anxiously.

'Not Slytherin?' The Hat chuckled. 'Believe me, you're not the first student to ask that, and you won't be the last. But are you sure you'd fit in with the Gryffindors? I suppose there are certain qualities you possess…'

The Hat paused a long moment, and Drusilla sat on the stool repeating her mantra in her head. 'Not Slytherin… Not Slytherin…"

Finally, the Hat spoke again. 'No, I think you're wrong.'

"SLYTHERIN!"

"No!"

There was a stunned sort of silence, and Drusilla suddenly realised she'd said the last word aloud. The Hat was removed from her head, but it took Drusilla several seconds to move. Eventually, the witch holding the Hat tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to make way for the next student. So this was what embarrassment felt like.

Drusilla walked to the long Slytherin table, but instead of being welcomed by cheering and handshakes, there was only a half-hearted sort of clapping and several indignant glares. Draco caught her eye and nodded approvingly, a cocky sort of smirk on his face. She looked down at the table in front of her and did not look up again until it was time to leave.

Across the room, the head of Slytherin watched the sullen girl, feeling somewhat resentful towards her, though he vaguely realised his anger would have been better directed towards Lucius Malfoy.

Still, it made him feel so much better to hate her just a little bit. It was easier than pitying her, though Merlin knows she'd deserve pity once he had undertaken the task he so dreaded.


	7. A Slytherin Drama in One Act

A SLYTHERIN DRAMA IN ONE ACT

"Drusilla," Draco said sharply, stopping her at the top of the stairwell leading down to the sixth year Slytherin girls' dormitory. She paused, her hand on the cold stone wall, but didn't turn around.

"What?" she said quietly, so that he could barely hear the acid in her voice. Draco took a few steps toward his cousin until he was standing directly behind her.

"Face me when I'm speaking to you."

Drusilla scoffed, but complied. She had no wish for the horrid boy to think her a coward, unable to look him in the eye. As she turned around, Draco drew up to his full, imposing height and looked down at her in what he obviously thought was an impressive manner.

"Much better," he said smugly, in his best and silkiest 'Lucius' voice. "I think we'll get along nicely enough, Drusilla, if you can learn how to behave. Which I think you can. You are a Malfoy, after all."

Drusilla drew in a long, deep breath, but didn't reply. This night had already taken a wrong turn; she didn't trust herself to retain her composure if she opened her mouth now. She was glad that she had put her hands into the pockets of her robes, for now they were shaking with anger, and she was certain that had Draco seen them he would have mistaken fury for fear.

He turned around and gestured to two empty armchairs in the common room, which two rather large and unfortunate-looking boys were standing guard over.

"Shall we sit and talk for a moment?"

"No, thank you," Drusilla said coldly. "I'm going to my room to unpack. Goodnight." As she turned around, however, a smooth white hand grasped her arm firmly above the elbow.

"You're not learning very quickly, though, are you?" Draco said harshly, and turned around to walk into the common room, pulling her along with him. A couple of seventh-years looked up at the spectacle and smirked. One blonde girl giggled loudly as Draco sat Drusilla down in an armchair and then took the one opposite her.

Drusilla looked at him with undisguised amusement; she had never met a boy more like his father, or more desperate to be so. The two Malfoys sat still for a long moment, staring at each other, before she stood straight up and walked over to stand behind his armchair. Several more Slytherins were now staring at their performance with a mixture of delight, curiosity and anxiety. Before Draco could open his mouth to issue another order, Drusilla leaned down so that her mouth was next to his ear, and grasped a handful of his platinum hair with one hand, pulling his head back sharply. The blonde girl stopped giggling and gasped in horror.

"Draco, Draco, Draco," she whispered in a voice he hadn't heard from her before. It was almost an imitation of his father's… or an imitation of an imitation of his father's. "You are such a delightful thing. I shall take pleasure in discovering all you have to offer me throughout the year. You haven't really impressed me yet, but I do hope you'll try again, dear boy."

She released his head and straightened up, walking directly to the sixth year dormitory stairwell. Draco stood up angrily and pulled out his wand.

"Come back here immediately!" he barked, a note of desperation in his voice. The hand that pointed his wand towards her shook, but no curse or hex was uttered. A sound he had never yet heard floated up from the bottom of the stairs Drusilla had just descended; his cousin was laughing at him.


	8. Lessons and Impressions

LESSONS AND IMPRESSIONS

She was getting used to the dungeons now. It wasn't the sort of place she had ever inhabited, but now that she had slept two nights there, the darkness and the cold stone were becoming almost home-like. She'd always been an adaptable person.

Drusilla's first day of classes had gone rather slowly. Each lesson had been quite long, but interesting enough (excluding History of Magic, which topic she had never found less magical). She particularly enjoyed Astronomy, which had taken place at night at the top of a tower. Her teacher, Professor Sinistra, knew more about the stars than any witch or wizard she had ever met before. Which was quite significant, really, as up to that point Drusilla had considered her own mother the absolute authority on that subject (and most others). In addition to Sinistra's ability, though, her indifferent personality made her more tolerable than any of the other teachers. Especially McGonagall, who had surveyed Drusilla for her entire Transfiguration lesson with a distinct look of mistrust.

Care of Magical Creatures was the least pleasant of all her lessons so far, as the sixth-year Slytherins shared the period with the Gryffindors, who were quickly becoming Drusilla's least favourite group of people. Since coming to Hogwarts, it had become apparent to Drusilla, who considered herself an outsider, and certainly not a member of any particular house (though the Sorting Hat believed otherwise), that there was a deep-rooted and unchangeable animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which went further than House rivalry. And though she tried to remain a mere observer, Drusilla found herself caught up in the House Wars, against her will and better judgment.

"Watch it, new girl!" a short little Gryffindor boy had spat at her as he shouldered into her on his way to grab some seeds for a Fire-Breathing Sunbird.

"What the fuck?" she had snapped back, turning around to glare at him. The boy opened his mouth wide, clearly unused to hearing such language at school.

"Professor Hagrid!" he yelled, and ran over to the indescribably large (and rather hairy) man who was taking the class. Drusilla watched the two of them confer for a moment. The boy pointed at her and Hagrid looked up, studying the dark-haired girl while the boy waited excitedly for him to scold her. Professor Hagrid stared at her for a long time, and then seemed to remember something, for he nodded his head as though he understood something the little boy didn't, then turned around and walked back to the Sunbirds. Disappointed, the boy Drusilla had mentally dubbed 'Blondie' scowled at her briefly before turning to follow the giant man.

"That's Gryffindor for you."

Drusilla turned around to see a chubby Slytherin girl standing beside her with an unpleasant look of superiority on her face. "What's Gryffindor for me?"

The chubby girl sighed and rolled her eyes. "They're all like that. Every single one of them. I'm Heather, by the way," she held out her hand, which Drusilla looked at disdainfully until it was put away. "My parents say that no Gryffindor was ever a true witch or wizard. They're all fakes – and completely useless, the lot of them. Of course everyone else thinks the sun shines out of their behinds, especially that Potter," she paused, and looked at Drusilla questioningly. "You do know who Potter is, don't you? Harry Potter?"

"Of course I do," Drusilla snapped.

"Yeah, well," Heather continued. "You don't seem to know much about anything, really, so I just thought…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"W-well," Heather faltered, and then pushed bravely onwards. "You don't seem to know much about Slytherin, otherwise you wouldn't have said what you did at the Sorting. You know, after the Hat sorted you, and you said –"

"I know what I said," Drusilla replied coolly.

"Well, if you knew about Slytherins, you wouldn't have said it. It was a very unlucky thing to say. You'll really have to prove yourself now, won't you? I mean, I know Draco's your cousin and everything, but that will only take you so far, especially if he turns against you. Which he will if you keep treating him the way you did last night." Heather took a breath, looking worried – as though she'd said too much.

"And if he turns against me? What's that supposed to do?" Drusilla asked, sounding bored.

"I just think you should be careful, is all. He's Head Boy, after all, and… and for other reasons, too." Heather looked around and then lowered her voice. "Malfoys deserve respect."

"Aren't I a Malfoy too? Everyone says I am. Perhaps _you_ should start showing some respect."

"I… I'm just giving you some friendly advice, that's all."

"I don't need it. Now please stand elsewhere." Drusilla turned her head away and heard Heather's offended-sounding scoff, then muffled footsteps on the grass as she walked over to where the other Slytherins stood.

And now, the next day, she was with the Gryffindors again – in the dungeons this time for their first potions lesson. It seemed it was impossible to get away from them, and even more impossible to get away from the Slytherins, whom she found she disliked the most. Drusilla was beginning to wish she hadn't gotten herself expelled from Durmstrang.

Just as the clock struck 9:00am, a tall dark-haired figure swept into the dungeon. "I trust none of you are expecting any beginning-of-year motivational speeches. If you are, I suggest you withhold your anticipation for today's Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, as I'm sure Professor Lupin has devoured a greeting card salesman at some point in his existence."

All of the Slytherins laughed loudly, while an indignant rumble of whispers was heard from the Gryffindors' side of the room. Drusilla merely stared a straight ahead looking uninterested, for she neither knew nor cared to know the meaning behind this little joke.

The potions master, Professor Snape – whom Drusilla had been told was the head of her house -, pulled out a long piece of parchment and began to take attendance. Each student responded by saying 'Here, Professor Snape,' or 'present.'  Drusilla noticed there were several students – Gryffindors, all – for whom Snape reserved special looks of loathing as he noted their presence.

"Lackey, Heather."

"Present, Professor Snape!" Heather practically sang, and Snape lip curled into an almost undetectable snarl.

"Very good, Lackey," he said tiredly. "Longfellow, McTavish."

A brown-haired boy grunted in response.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Longfellow. Perhaps by the time you next step into my classroom you will have taught yourself to speak properly." A few Slytherins sniggered, but McTavish and his friends looked perfectly furious.

"Malfoy, Drusilla."

Like she had in every other class, Drusilla remained silent. By now the Slytherins were used to it, but some of them still looked uneasy. Many of them, including Heather, smirked in anticipation, as though expecting some sort of scene to erupt, though it hadn't in any other class so far. All the other professors had looked straight at Drusilla, noted her presence and continued marking the roll. Drusilla refused to say "Here, professor" for these Hogwarts people (especially in response to THAT name). It felt somehow beneath her, especially seeing as how people like Heather Lackey performed the task with such relish.

Snape did not look at her, however. He waited a moment, still looking at the parchment in front of him, with his quill ready to make its mark.

"Malfoy, Drusilla," he said again, still in that low voice. Again Drusilla did not respond. Finally Snape looked up. Like the other teachers, he did not have to search the room for her; he had already noted where she was sitting. His black eyes burned straight into hers and he repeated himself yet again.

"Malfoy."

Even the Slytherins were silent. Nobody in the room moved or spoke, and the tension hung in the air for the long minute that the two stared at each other. Finally, Snape stood up from his desk and moved to stand in front of Drusilla's, his black robes billowing (there was simply no other word for it) behind him. Every single student had to strain their ears to try and hear his words, even the Slytherins sitting at the surrounding tables (for no one had sat beside her). But nobody except Drusilla and Snape were privy to the extremely short conversation that unfolded. Snape leaned in towards her on his hands and they both looked into one another's eyes.

"Lacroix, Drusilla."

"Here, Professor."

Snape nodded shortly before straightening up to address the entire class from the front of the room.

"You will take out your quills and parchment and copy down what I'm about to write," he said. All of the students got to work immediately, even the lazy Slytherins, but Drusilla took a moment to study Professor Snape before joining them. His back was turned. He wrote quickly, his hand moving across the blackboard sharply, and his writing was barely legible. His long black hair fell in his face but he made no move to brush it away, as though the task of writing a potions recipe took every ounce of his concentration. Drusilla was certain it didn't. And she was amazed that a few short minutes ago, she had not found the Potions Master even mildly interesting.


	9. The Misdemeanour

THE MISDEMEANOUR

Drusilla skipped dinner and spent the evening in the library. She wasn't studying – in fact, she wasn't even reading. Her potions text lay open in front of her, to give Madam Pince, the highly-strung librarian, the impression that Drusilla was hard at work, but she was actually staring out of the large windows directly in front of her.

Drusilla had the rather unnerving habit of staying in one spot for many hours at a time and not moving – barely even blinking. It gave her time to clear her mind out and sift through the many moments of her day. At this very moment, she was dwelling on the events of her Potions lesson, and would continue to do so until she looked up much later and found that she had missed curfew….. By almost two hours.

Drusilla smiled and wondered what it would take to get herself kicked out of Hogwarts. Being a Malfoy (or being CONSIDERED a Malfoy) was certain to afford her certain indiscretions. But how much would be forgiven before it was deemed that she had crossed the line? What would she have to do before she could return to Paris and live out her life as the rightful Lacroix heiress?

As she stood up and returned her potions text to her book bag, Drusilla heard an exclamation of indignation behind her and swiftly turned around. Madam Pince swooped in on her.

"You! I told you to leave the library two hours ago young lady! Staying out after curfew! Illegal studying! You'll be lucky if I don't tell your housemaster! Now GET OUT!" And Drusilla was chased from the library by a couple of charmed books, flapping their leather-bound covers around her ears.

As the large oak doors of the library slammed shut, Drusilla grinned wryly and vowed to be consistently uncooperative until she had figured out the key element that would result in her expulsion from both Hogwarts and the Malfoy family.

         Ten minutes later, Drusilla entered the Slytherin common room and found the perfect opportunity to fulfil her vow.

"Where have you been?" Draco strode towards her angrily. "We've got a house meeting starting in two minutes! You are damn lucky you didn't miss it!"

Drusilla raised one eyebrow and looked behind him at the seven straight rows of Slytherins (first years at the front, seventh years at the back), facing the common room entrance. They all looked straight ahead with serious, sombre expressions on their faces.

"I highly doubt that," she said dryly, and turned towards the sixth year girls' dorm. A hand grasped the back of her robes and yanked her backwards, making her stumble over her own feet.

"Get in line," said Draco, and began walking her towards the second last row of Slytherins, his hand still holding her robes.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded, whirling around and pushing him away. Her eyes were the eyes of a madwoman –angry and darkening. "I do not wish to take part in your ridiculous house meeting any more than I wish to be part of your ridiculous house! Kindly do not touch me again."

But Draco, never having known when to quit while he was ahead, did touch her again. In fact, in the next fleeting moments that passed between them, Draco both slapped her face and discovered why he should never have done so.

The air was thick and time itself seemed to have slowed down, for before Drusilla Lacroix had even felt the stinging of her cousin's hand against her cheek, the words had rolled off her tongue and Draco's offending hand had been turned inside out upon itself. A horrible smell of burning flesh filled the room and Draco's terrified screams mixed with the sound of his muscles tearing and bubbling as they ripped and burned themselves at the same time.

Several Slytherins screamed and sobbed, while others merely stared. Drusilla took a few steps back, all at once pleased with her work and wanting to distance herself from it. She turned towards the common room entrance and stepped directly into the chest of the Potions Master himself. Looking up at him, she saw that he was muttering a counter-curse under his breath. Of course, it wouldn't be difficult for him to reverse. He could stop the burning, ease the pain, still Draco's writhing flesh. He did so, and immediately ordered Crabbe and Goyle to take the sobbing boy to see Madam Pomfrey, who would be able to heal him completely without too much fuss. His arm would no doubt return to normal within a day or two. But Drusilla was certain Draco would think twice before touching her again.

"All Slytherins to their dorms. The house meeting is cancelled," Professor Snape said in a voice only slightly louder than a whisper. The Slytherins, some still shaking and sobbing (Pansy Parkinson included) immediately retired for the night. Drusilla stayed rooted to the spot – not because she wanted to, but because the House Master had stayed her with a hand grasped firmly around her upper arm. When the last dorm doors had been closed, Snape turned on his heel and exited the Slytherin common room, still holding the newest sixth year by the arm. He marched Drusilla down a couple of cold stairwells and into a dark, sinister-looking dungeon that could only be his office. He let go of her arm and pointed to a chair in front of his desk, which she sat in, and then sat down himself, in a high-backed chair behind his desk.

Drusilla noted, with some surprise, that he did not seem overcome with fury, as her House Master at Durmstrang had always been when she'd committed her little 'misdemeanours.' Instead, his hands were clasped on the desk in front of him and when he spoke, he did so in a low, even voice and his words were calculated and well paced.

Well, Miss Malfoy," he said silkily, and Drusilla was sharply reminded of her uncle – though this man, she could see, was far more dangerous. "Is there anything you'd like to say?"

Drusilla got the distinct impression she was really being asked, 'Any last words?'

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: Hope everyone likes this chapter. Sorry to leave it on a cliffie! I just don't know what comes next, to be honest. In fact, I'm not so sure I'm going to be continuing this fic. I really love the idea of it, but it's just not getting much of a response from readers. Plus, I'm a bit confused as to where it's headed. If anybody had ideas, feel free to let me know. And PLEASE read & review, it's just common courtesy! By the way, I've re-written A GAGGLE OF GRYFFINDORS (Chap. 4, I think) if you'd like to read it again.


	10. Introduction to Consequence

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, it's been almost a year, but I've finally decided to continue this story! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter. Please read and review, I'd love to know what you think.

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Drusilla sat silently and stiffly in the chair across from her house master. Part of her was definitely intimidated by this man. Though she highly valued courage and confidence in the face of such overtly authoritarian figures as he (a distinct Gryffindor trait, she noted wryly), she was not too proud to admit (to herself, at least) that this teacher quickened her pulse. It seemed to Drusilla that, unlike the other teachers at Hogwarts and even at Durmstrang, this teacher did not follow the same rules as everybody else. He seemed far more likely to make up his own, and she was almost certain that did not bode well for her.

However, she was determined to continue her reign of destruction and somehow, eventually, get herself ejected from Hogwarts.

"Well?" Snape said, in that same low voice he'd used since arriving on the scene in the Slytherin common room.

"What would you like me to say, Professor?" she said calmly.

Snape emitted a short snort of laughter. "What I would like, Miss Malfoy, is for this incident to be erased from history. I would like, Miss Malfoy, for this evening never to have happened. What I would _really _like, _Miss Malfoy,_" he said the last two words as a hiss. "Is for you never to have come to Hogwarts, and never to have been admitted to my house."

Drusilla was surprised. "Then Professor," she said, leaning forward and looking him directly in the eye. "You and I are allies in this miserable affair. What _I _would like, _Professor Snape, _is never to have come to this awful country at all."

Severus smirked. "Yes, well, as unfortunate a circumstance as your presence creates, it is a moot point. You are here, you are staying, and we all must tolerate it."

Drusilla's heart sank. "But obviously the best thing we can do -"

Snape turned his glowering face to her and scowled. "We, Miss Malfoy? There is no we. You and I are not - _allies_ - as you put it," he said, his lip curling in disdain. "I am your house master. You are my student."

"But Professor, you don't want me here any more than I wish to be here. You must see we have a common interest."

"All I see is a student who has broken the most basic of rules, shown nought but disrespect for myself and her house mates, and caused severe injury to the Head Boy. Who is also, must I remind you, your cousin!" he said, his voice rising.

Drusilla scowled, slumping back in her chair. For the briefest of moments, she had seen a light in this miserable place. Here was a professor, her own head of house, someone with the power to have her expelled from Hogwarts, and he _actually wanted her gone_! Drusilla had anticipated months of forced disruption and misbehaviour before she got the expulsion she wished for, but this man wanted her gone _now!_ For a fleeting second, she'd envisioned arriving home in her beloved Paris, free from the constraints of being a lowly student in an unfamiliar place, free from the new family she resented so deeply. For a moment, she'd been liberated.

The disappointment of having that snatched from her melted away all of Drusilla's careful composure and coolness. Her air of dignified contempt turned quickly to petulance as she fumed silently in her chair. For a few seconds, it was as though she had forgotten where she was and whom she was with.

Severus observed her new demeanour with amusement. It was almost Veela-like, he thought to himself, the way she had changed from the poised, audacious and cleverly defiant young woman to this scowling, incensed teenager.

"What is it then?" she asked abruptly, turning back to him.

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"My punishment, what is it? Points from Slytherin? Detention? What?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Be quiet, you stupid girl," he warned.

Drusilla sighed, looking away. "Why? If I'm sentenced to life at Hogwarts, I'd rather inspire the death penalty, so to speak."

Severus stood abruptly and slammed both his hands on the desk. Drusilla flinched.

"You have no idea, do you? You don't understand the mess you've gotten yourself into! Do you think I'm your chief concern, Lacroix? There are more sharks swimming around you than you can possibly imagine."

Drusilla looked up slowly from his hands on the desk to his eyes. There was a mean, desperate glint in them, as though he resented her for reasons she'd never know. Comprehension dawned on her.

"Lucius," she said slowly.

Severus stopped then, and stood to his full height. He realised he'd said too much. If he were to do the jobs each of his masters expected him to do on this girl, he would have to keep his emotions in check and not give his hand away too soon. He must tread a fine line with this 'project.'

Remembering Dumbledore's advice about the girl, Severus masked the emotions on his face and walked around the desk to stand beside her.

"No, no points from Slytherin. No detentions," he said softly, taking Drusilla's wrist in his hand. She eyed him warily but didn't pull away. He pulled back the sleeve of her black robes. "I'm not McGonagall. And this isn't Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw house either. You are a Slytherin, Drusilla, and must expect to be handled as such."

Drusilla briefly registered that he had addressed her by her first name as she mentally steeled herself, anticipating what was to come.

"In Slytherin," Snape said in that familiar threatening, serpentine voice. "We believe in an eye for an eye."

At that moment the two of them locked eyes, before Severus whispered the incantation Drusilla herself had used earlier that evening.

"_Comburo Penitus."_

At first, though her face turned grey and she bit deep into her lip, Drusilla thought she may be able to withstand the pain without succumbing to the urge to scream. As the pain shot from her hand throughout her whole arm, and eventually overtook her body, she held out just barely, still meeting Snape's firm gaze. However, when the smell of her own burning flesh reached her nostrils, Drusilla could not hide her panic. She cried out in pain and horror. And as soon as she did, a spell was muttered and the torment was over.

With the pain gone, Drusilla slumped in her chair, breathing heavily for several long moments. Severus stayed where he was, standing in front of her.

"A very useful spell. One that I'm surprised you knew, given your mother's tendencies towards more….. Natural magicks," he said, smirking. "It's also quite useful to know the reversal. Fortunately for you, I do. Therefore while your cousin spends the next two days recovering in the hospital wing," he continued, picking up her hand, which hung limply at her side. "You will have no residual mark but the one that I hope is imprinted firmly on your memory."

She looked up at her hand and was surprised to find that any evidence of what had just happened was completely erased from her smooth, white skin. She brought it close to her face to examine it properly. Fascinating, she thought.

Snape leaned back onto the desk and folded his arms. "Your house mates will no doubt be extremely curious to know what has transpired here this evening. I'm certain that for the sake of your own pride you will remain silent about it."

Drusilla looked at him hesitantly, but nodded. "My pride and your employment," she said quietly.

Still defiant, Snape thought. He was pleased to observe, however, that her demeanour was at least somewhat subdued. Though for how long he didn't know. Time to put the next phase of this first encounter into action.

He took Drusilla's hand in both of his own in a manner that she thought was strangely….. gentle.

"You have the hands of a musician," he noted, looking at them carefully.

Drusilla narrowed her eyes. "My mother taught me to play the violin. But I don't do that anymore."

"Why not?" he asked.

The idea crossed her mind to tell him to mind his own business, but the memory of her own burning flesh was still too raw to allow it. "Because my mother is dead," she said frankly.

"I know," he said, mindlessly tracing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

Drusilla nodded. She was surprised, and strangely grateful, that his manner was suddenly so benign. "She was murdered."

"I know," he repeated. The pair continued to stare darkly at one another.

"How do you know?" she whispered suspiciously.

Suddenly Severus let go of her hand. His work for the evening was accomplished. His onslaught had begun, but he must be patient with its completion. "That will be all for this evening, Miss Malfoy," he said coolly, turning away from her. "You are dismissed."

"What do you know bout my mother?" she demanded.

"I said that will be all. Goodnight," he replied menacingly.

"Professor Snape-" she began, but was cut off by nothing more than a look, and the memory that was still burning in her brain.

Calculating her options, Drusilla decided to retreat. For now.

"Goodnight Professor."

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, what do you think? Oh, and thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. I don't think I would have picked up this story again if it hadn't been for your encouragement.


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